


Fake It 'Til You Make It

by eeyore9990



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Student Stiles, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2372078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While scrolling tumblr, I saw a thing about fake boyfriends trope.  This happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fake It 'Til You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> A Whole Strip of Condoms (my newest multi-chap) will still be updated on Monday as scheduled! This was just a thing that happened.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a stupid idea. It was a _colossally_ stupid idea. Anyone paying attention would know that and, uh, Stiles had been paying attention to everything about Derek Hale since that day in the woods when he was sixteen and popped an insta-boner over the mysterious re-appearance of a super hot possible serial killer in Beacon Hills. 

So yeah. Stupid idea. 

But Derek had been oddly willing when Stiles begged him to pretend to be his boyfriend — after giving Stiles a long, flat, measuring sort of look — and Stiles didn’t want college to be a rehashing of high school, so… 

Part of what made the idea so stupid was that it took less than ten seconds for the casual sling of Derek’s arm around his waist to become addicting. And the idle rub of Derek’s thumb over his side made his skin _hungry_ for more. 

So when Derek staged a little, half-hearted, “I can’t handle you flirting with other people _right in front of me_ while you’ve been ignoring me all night,” Stiles only let him take two steps before he was chasing him, fingers catching the thick leather of Derek’s belt and twisting, turning him back around. 

"You’re the only one I’ve been paying attention to all night," he confessed to Derek’s confused eyebrows. "I have no idea what’s been said by anyone at this stupid party _including me_ because all I’ve felt, all I’ve been able to think about, all night is you by my side. You can leave. You’ve always been free to leave,” and from the way Derek’s wide eyes were trained on his chest, Stiles knew he just realized there hadn’t been a tell tale blip of his heart to signal a lie, “but Derek, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to _stay_.” 

Derek was silent so long, Stiles’ heartbeat went ragged with panic. Then, like he was testing a spot that should be torn open and bleeding, but was, instead, whole and healed, Derek muttered, “That better not have been a damn dog joke, Stiles, or so help me…” 

Stiles blinked, had no idea what Derek was talking about but he knew one thing. “You’re not running.” 

"What?" Derek stepped closer, head tilted down like the music was too loud. God, he was so good at that. So good at pretending to be something he wasn’t, which was… Well, it was a thought that was unnecessarily heart breaking right at the moment. 

A drunk coed bumped into Stiles, splashing cold fucking beer all over his back and causing him to hiss and arch his spine until he was pressed all up against Derek’s everything. His brain took a minute to reboot while he just writhed there, Derek’s hands automatically catching him around the waist. 

God, those hands, so sure and confident… Stiles let out a breath, slumping against Derek in defeat. “Can we stop pretending?” 

Derek stiffened and pulled away, face blank of emotion. “It was your stupid idea,” he said through his teeth, eyes flitting behind Stiles toward… something not Stiles. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, bumping his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. "It _was_ stupid. If I’d been smarter, I’d have asked for you to come as my real boyfriend.” Defeat snaked through his belly and he stepped back, letting Derek go. “Sorry. I just. Yeah.” Hitching his shoulder in a shrug, he dug his hands in his back pockets before grimacing at the cold clamminess of beer-drenched denim. 

"So ask me again." 

Stiles lurched backward, gaze bouncing back to clash again with Derek’s. “What?” 

It was Derek’s fingers twisting under _his_ belt this time, dragging him forward. Lips so close to his ear, they brushed the sensitive skin, Derek repeated, “Ask me again.” 

Stiles squeezed his eyes closed, begging silently of any universal being willing to look kindly on him. “Will you—” 

Firm lips swallowed the rest of his question and Stiles’ eyes popped open wide, memorizing the sight of Derek’s eyelashes resting against his cheek from less than an inch away. Then he remembered Derek was kissing him and he gasped, lips parting to let Derek in, to seal this new, terrifying twist on their relationship. 

"Yes, you idiot," Derek muttered after dragging his mouth to the spot just under Stiles’ ear. "Took you long enough." 

"I… _fuck_ ,” Stiles bit his lip, gurgling at the sensation of Derek’s beard scraping over the side of his neck. “Why didn’t _you_ say anything?” 

"It had to be your choice. I wasn’t going to push for more than you were ready for." 

"Everything. I’m ready for everything." Then, because he’d _met_ Derek’s past significant others, he added, “I’m ready to fight over whether Han or Luke was the hero of Star Wars—” 

"It was obviously Leia—" 

"Shut it. I’m not saying I love you for at least a month, you bastard, no matter what kind of perfection you spew at me. I want sex. I want _all_ the sex, I want to taste every inch of you and suck your dick til I can’t taste anything else. I want to make out until we’re uncomfortably close to nutting off in our pants, and I want to take naps on the couch with my fingers tangled in your hair. But I want to hold your hand. And I want to see movies together and go inside Arby’s sometimes instead of just the drive through. I want to wake up to nasty morning breath kisses. And I want—” 

Derek’s hand over his mouth tasted like the beer soaking his clothes, but the torn-open look in his eyes was what really stopped Stiles’ uncontrollable word vomit. “With me?” Derek asked, looking way too vulnerable for his black leather jacket persona. 

Stiles curved his shaking hand around Derek’s throat, clutching his shirt with the other. “Of course. Fake or real, the only relationship I ever want is with _you._

**Author's Note:**

> And that’s the story of the shortest-lived fake boyfriend’s trope ever.


End file.
